


From The Ashes

by LokiNeedsHugs1031



Series: Stucky Ficlets [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Night Terrors, Nightmares, POV Steve Rogers, Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Separation Anxiety, Sleepy Cuddles, Steve Feels, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Stucky - Freeform, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 08:05:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18687463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiNeedsHugs1031/pseuds/LokiNeedsHugs1031
Summary: Steve dealing with the aftermath of the Endgame battle and Bucky is there to help.





	From The Ashes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dean_The_princess_Winchester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dean_The_princess_Winchester/gifts).



> These just keep pouring out of me, I need more stories where Steve and Bucky are okay! Thanks again Tiffany for this beautiful prompt! Hope you all enjoy!

            Steve was in between the realm of sleep and awake, where your eyes roll back and forth in your head and your mind decides whether or not the bed will be just a bed. Or a blazing scorching surface where bullets are flying in every direction and bombs open up the earth. Swallow him down eat up everything wholesome and pure.

            Gunfire, everywhere, lighting up every inch of the sky.

            Flesh turning to ash.

            He woke up screaming, that much he gathered right away, chest heaving out of control, his limbs were twisted and trapped in the sheets. He was covered in sweat. Where was he? Where were they? Where was Bucky?

            And then he was releasing said fear into the atmosphere, “Buck? Bucky?!” he managed to get the sheets out from under his legs, tripping as he went as he scrambled out of bed.

            It had been a dream.

            The whole damn thing had been a dream.

            The war hadn’t happened, Bucky was still gone, Thanos had won. There was no cabin in the woods where they’d given up the super hero business and settled down. There was no world where Bucky hadn’t fallen bleeding from the train, marring the snow below while the world roared on by.

            All of this was a lie.

            He was here alone.

            He scrambled into the bathroom, flipping on the light switch and receiving nothing but darkness, his heart hammering so violently he thought he would faint.

            Nothing.

            He stumbled into the living room, it was dark as well, as pitch black as the sky outside. Oh, he was going to faint, this was where he was going to fall, hit his head, and hopefully die. Because there was no one left, nothing left, nothing, nothing, nothing.

            His knees hit the well-worn floor, the pain radiating up his limbs as he crashed down, but he hardly noticed, his face fell into his hands. He couldn’t catch his breath, maybe he would die, maybe he would suffocate like he almost did so many times with those long ago asthma attacks.

            The front door opened, a soft creaking that Steve didn’t hear, not fully.

            “Stevie?!” the voice spoke in alarm.

            Steve looked up, there was Bucky, but it couldn’t be? Could it? No, it couldn’t be.

            “No, no, no,” he cried, scrambling backwards, falling on his backside.

            Ash filled up the room, so much ash. Ash that was Bucky, scattered into the wind and carried off into the dark black night.

            “Stevie, baby-doll, hold onto my voice, I’m right here, hold on,” the lie continued to speak in that soothing tone that made him think of death again, deep in tenor, warm like honey.

            “Oh God,” he moaned, “Please, please, please…”

            “Honey, sweetheart.” The ashes spoke, “Listen to me, look at me, I’m right here. It’s just a dream…you had a bad dream!”

            The image took him by the shoulders and he shouted, screamed, long and horrible, scattering backwards on the floor, the wood surface scraping and opening up his skin.

            Grounding.

            Wait.

            It hurt.

            “Bucky, please…I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry!”

            “Baby,” the voice continued, “Honey.”

            “You sound just like him,” Steve sobbed, loud, hard, he felt as though his chest might collapse.

            “I _am_ him, Stevie, Jesus fucking Christ…it was just a bad dream. I didn’t go anywhere, I’m not an illusion, I’m not a mirage, I’m right here,” His hands were pressed up against something solid, warm, real, breathing. “Look at me, right now.”

            Steve dared to lift his head, his eyes pinched closed so tightly they could bleed. “Just a little longer…little longer I promise. I just wanna be with him a little longer.”

            “Steven Grant Rogers open your eyes right now.” the voice spoke again, firmly and with purpose.

            He was heaving, close to being sick but he pried his eyes open. Oh, fuck, and there he was. There was no dusting, no particles flying away with his name falling from Bucky’s lips. No blood sullying bright, pure snow. No whining, crashing sound of a train or acrid burning air. “Buck…”

            Bucky was there, he was _really_ there, and his face looked tired, aged, his dark hair falling around his face, the rest of it tied up into a messy bun. “Yes, sweetheart it’s me. All a bad dream.” he brought Steve’s hands up to his lips, pressing firm kisses along his knuckles over and over.

            Steve nearly slumped, gasping so loud Bucky flinched, “I couldn’t find you…we were on the field and I couldn’t find you!”

            Bucky took his flesh hand and pressed his palm to Steve’s cheek, “Stevie, the power went out, don’t you hear that storm? I went to get some firewood. I tried not to wake you up. Oh, honey I’m so sorry I didn’t think you’d react this way I was only gone a few minutes.”

            “You weren’t…you were gone so long…so many years…I-I can’t…I can’t…” he hiccupped, he grasped at the hand caressing his face, wanting to bottle up this feeling and keep it forever. Because it must be fleeting, it had to be.

            “No,” Bucky corrected, he was down on both knees now, “Only gone a few minutes. I went to get some firewood and fuck, I heard you screaming.”

            His face was fully cradled in Bucky’s hands now, forcing him to make eyes contact, “You were gone…”

            “I know, but I’m here now,” Bucky whispered, brushing away tears Steve hadn’t even realized had fallen. He was reaching forward and kissing one cheek, then the other, before burying his lips in Steve’s sweat damp hair. He held Steve to his chest, Steve pressed his nose into the expose flesh of Bucky’s color, which was easy to do given the tank-top he’d gone to bed in. “You’re shaking so bad, let’s get off the floor, come on.”

            Steve felt drunk, or what he remembered drunk felt like. A far off feeling from a million years ago. And Bucky had taken care of him then too.

            He allowed Bucky to drag him off the floor over to the large plush couch, the sofa bed part of it pulled out and made nicely where, he realized, the fireplace had been stacked with wood and a low fire was burning.

            “Come on honey, sit down,” Bucky directed, pushing him down to the couch’s mattress, pulling an afghan off the end and placing it around his shoulders. “God, you’re soaked, sit tight.”

            “No! Don’t, d-don’t!” Steve shouted, startling even himself and he lurched a hand forward and pulled Bucky back.

            Bucky took a patient, measured breath. “I ain’t going anywhere, you need some water and I’m gonna get a wet cloth.” he kissed his knuckles again, brushing his hair away from his forehead and dropping a kiss there as well.

            With great reluctance Steve let go, their hands sliding out of each other’s and Steve watched with rapt attention as Bucky went into the kitchen. Thankfully not out of sight.

            He returned quickly with a glass in hand, “Drink up, I know what these are like, bet your throat is burning something awful.”

            Steve did as told and drank it down in two or three big gulps that bruised his throat no doubt. “Buck….”

            “Right here,” Bucky soothed, “Not going anywhere.” he dabbed the cool cloth around Steve’s temples, over his cheeks and lips, the dip in his throat and around to the nape of his neck where he could feel the sweat beginning to cool and make him shiver.

            Quite suddenly his senses returned. The quiet of the room, the crackling of the fireplace, the soft breaths leaving Bucky’s mouth as he concentrated far too closely on Steve’s condition. It was only now that he could hear the rumbling just outside, the lightening scattering across the darkness. He could see the outline of the trees, their shapes casting shadows on the floor.

            And Bucky was here. Solid. He was here.

            “That was a bad one huh…” Bucky murmured, setting the cloth aside when he was seemingly satisfied with Steve’s state.

            Steve nodded, his chest hitching and feeling too full. “Worst ever…sorry…just woke up…a-and you were gone and then it just…everything came falling down and…”

            “Shhh, it’s alright,” Bucky shushed gently, “I get it, I get it. Thought you were out enough to give me a few minutes to get this set up. Your temperature’s been off so much the last couple weeks once the power blew I didn’t want you getting chilled. Thought I’d get this all set up for you, knew you’d wake up eventually.”

            “I did,” Steve gulped, trying to push the memories of the night-terror away, he knew his breathing had grown erratic again when Bucky was threading fingers through his hair.

            “Sweetheart, breathe…” he reminded him, “Come on, lie back for me,” as he said this he was pulling back the quilt and sheets, removing the afghan and ushering Steve underneath the blankets.

            Steve once more did as told, obeying direction and he let Bucky bodily move him until the softness of the bed was against his bare legs. He felt an enormous trill of fear when the mattress sprung up as Bucky moved, he willed himself not to reach forward like he’d done before. Soon enough Bucky was on the other side, shimmying in beneath the sheets as well, immediately pulling Steve into his arms. Bucky made it a point to make a cocoon with the blankets, securing them both beneath them as he trembled from the chill of the room.

            “Right here,” Bucky repeated, settling Steve’s cheek over his heart. “You hear that?”

            Steve nodded, swallowing thickly, “Y-Yeah…” the thump, thump, thump was everything that was soothing, more so than words could convey. Because a heartbeat could never lie.

            “I’m never leaving you again baby-doll. I’ve been through hell to get back to you, and guess what? I’d do it all over again. Nothing or nobody is keeping me from being by your side.” Bucky spoke temperately against the sound of the popping and crackling fire.

            Steve could only stifle another rock sized sob, choking on it as it broke loose, clumsily reaching his hand up to thread his fingers through one of Bucky’s hands. “I-I…waking up is something...that’s still hard to do because I’ve woken up so many mornings…and thought you’d be there. I-I guess now that you’re back…I wake up and think you’re not…that I’m alone again and I’m so lonely I can hardly stand it. I don’t belong here, in any of this if you ain’t here.”

            It was a purge. Something he’d been meaning to put into words for weeks now, it took a short bout of insanity for him to actually articulate it.

            God, he felt hungover with it all, the terror ebbing on the surface, slowly edging away as Bucky continued to run his fingertips through his scalp, his hair still damp from spent fear. Bucky was warm, he always was warm, and if there was anything that could ground him, this would be it. Heart beating and the heavy weight of his arms around his shoulders.

            He startled only slightly when Bucky began to hum, slowly and carefully. His eyes filled up with fresh, hot tears as he recalled the tune. A lullaby his mom would sing to him when he was too damn sick to even lift his head, fever burning him out and his chest clogged with pneumonia. He’d fallen pretty sick that first summer his mom had died and Bucky was there, just like he always was, just like he was now.

            He couldn’t help the snuffling, no matter how much he tried to keep it quiet. Bucky simply took it in stride, continuing to pet and stroke him, running his fingers over his bare arms, up and down, before gliding them into his hair, playing with the short hairs at the edge of his neck.

            “I love you Bucky…I love you so damn much…” Steve took a deep, shaky, uneven breath as he spoke.

            He felt Bucky kiss the top of his head, then his forehead, the tip of his nose, “I love you too sweetheart. Close your eyes, I’m not going anywhere, no more bad dreams.”

            Steve nodded, the spent adrenaline eating away at all sense, but starting to dull as sleep began to take hold once more

            Bucky continued to hum, and as he fell asleep, he only dreamed of this.

            Whole. Warm. Safe in Bucky’s embrace.

            Home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always up for prompts! Please leave a review!


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